X-Men Last Judgement
by Shiroiyuki3
Summary: [SET AFTER DAYS OF FUTURE PAST - SPOILERS BEWARE] The future had been rewritten. A terrible fate avoided. The world was now at peace, mutants and humans living freely together. But something much darker was looming just on the edges of time. An ancient threat has awakened. Now it seems a war far worse than the one they'd known is imminent on the horizon. [MOVIE-VERSE]
1. Chapter One

_This will be purely movie-verse and set after the events of Days of Future Past. I will on occasion draw inspiration from various preexisting comic storylines out there, including characters and plotlines, and may sometimes use background information not specifically present in the movies to flesh out characters as I see fit, but I do not make any claims to being a lexicon to all things X-Men, Marvel, or the like, and content myself to mostly movie-based "facts" and storyline. I also do not entertain crossovers into other "universes", even if the comics do. Sorry, Avenger fans._

_This story was designed to be an accompaniment to Days of Future Past and a bridge to what I hope Apocalypse has in store for us. As such, it is written with a faux-cinematic pacing in mind. _

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own or stake a claim to any character, setting, concept, or plotline that comes directly from Marvel or the X Men movie franchise. I did however meet Allen Bellman and his wife, once. I fetched that man a LOT of coffee and water during his stay. He was a nice old guy who ate a lot of salad and drew some stuff.

* * *

><p><strong>X Men: Last Judgement<strong>

History had been rewritten. A future of persecution, of war, death, despair...nothing but a faint memory shared between two men. Unlikely allies safeguarding the truth of what life had been. Another life lived and lost. Another life all but forgotten.

They'd created a new future by changing their past. And many things _had_ changed. Friends once gone to them were still alive and well. Humanity no longer feared and hunted that which they did not understand. Mutants lived openly now. The school had never seen so many happy students or happy parents. Finally, after fifty years and two very different lifetimes spent in the pursuit of equality, the world seemed at peace.

But one man did not celebrate this victory, for he alone knew such peace came at a price.

Charles Xavier sat looking down at the courtyard from his window. He smiled fondly as the children played. His mind was quite troubled, but years of experience keeping his emotions in check kept such turbulent truth from reflecting on his face. The man watched several students energetically playing a game of basketball, using their various gifts and powers without fear of Humanity's prejudice. These were children who grew up knowing nothing but freedom. In such a world as this it was difficult even for the professor to imagine that the path to such freedom could possibly be wrong. But he knew that manipulating the past had its consequences as well as its benefits. Nature must have balance.

For the past twenty eight years he'd felt the ramifications of all that they'd done...

The man frowned slightly as his guest arrived.

"Jean said you wanted to see me."

Logan was never one for formality. He hadn't even knocked, knowing all too well that the professor would already know he was there. Clad in his normal Devil-May-Care attire that hardly was appropriate of the instructor he was, the muscular man leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms.

"Yes," said Xavier, turning to greet him. "There is something of great importance I wish to speak to you about. Please," he gestured to a chair. The other man simply lifted a furry eyebrow.

After seeing the perpetual hope on the professor's face, he reluctantly took the proffered seat with a grumble. "I'm afraid there is something I've been keeping from you. As you know, you and I are oddities in this timeline. We alone possess the knowledge of what transpired in 1973. Of the existence of an entirely different set of outcomes that led up to that point."

"Well, there's also Beast. And Erik," corrected Logan. He scratched the crop of unshaven hair on his chin with an unimpressed hand. "What's your point?"

"They are aware of your time travelling, yes, but they cannot not fully comprehend the implications. Unlike them, I had a firsthand look at the future which may have been. _Had_ been. The future you changed. Through your memories and through my own...deviation into your timeline, I gained knowledge of this other life. And what I saw pained me."

"Again, what's your point? That future you saw no longer exists. We all prevented it. Even Magneto, more or less."

The old man hovered in his chair behind the desk, turning to once again look out the window. The children were so happy. How much he hated to know such happiness teetered on a ledge, a fragile thing.

"Logan," The professor said softly, his eyes watching the same game as before. "What if I told you our actions in 1973 did more than just create the world we live in now? That changing the course of history set into motion events potentially worse than the future we'd known?"

"I'd say you worry too much."

Xavier chuckled sadly. "Yes, indeed. But I'm afraid in this case worrying cannot be helped. Nature, you see, has a way of correcting itself. Balancing out, if you will. It seems Fate cannot be stopped as we thought it could. Merely delayed. Fate is...unavoidable, Logan.

"The ripples we created left their mark on other aspects of our current timeline. The sentinel war was prevented as hoped, but we changed history to do so. By preventing war we, in a sense, created one. A far worse one, in fact.

"Those who had fallen in the future which you came from are still living in this one, and those who lived were not all so lucky. There are still ripples left behind from our meddling with time. Such ripples are very dangerous. They can destroy the entire world if we are not careful. It is our duty that we right the wrongs we've done."

At the look of protest on Wolverine's face, the professor quickly amended. "Please do not misunderstand; Our comrades, our family, I would not trade any one of them to a harsher fate. Of what I gathered from your memories I know that many of our kind suffered greatly. Had not we changed our path...but it is not them of whom I speak. I have been aware for quite some time that there exists something dark in this world. An entity, ancient and unspeakable. I have felt the extraordinary disturbances of nature that such a force has caused.

"Twenty eight years ago I discovered that a mutant who did not exist in the other future, was born in this timeline due to our actions. Its birth, its very existence, was wholly dependent on a single factor which was somehow missing from the other. Just like the darkness I feel, this mutant was never meant to be."

"And I take it they're better off dead?" The man unceremoniously lit a cigarette, despite the understanding that smoking was to be done outside. He waved his match out and took a long drag. "Let me guess, you want me to kill him."

"On the contrary. I want you to save her.

"You see, it is my belief that this mutant will ultimately decide our fate. The events leading up to her birth were the culmination of several unusual circumstances that would not have occurred, had we not interfered with history. A chain reaction, a rift in time itself. We face another war, Logan. A war of unprecedented magnitude. We must make sure that when this war begins she is on our side.

"And I'm afraid we haven't much time."

The two travelled down the corridor towards Cerebro, not saying much. The sharp click of motorcycle boots and the mechanical hum of a hover chair filled their silence. They were an unlikely pair indeed, one prim and proper in a dapper suit, the other quite rugged in leather and a well-loved wife-beater. Logan took another drag on his cigarette, almost spent. A puff of smoke floated past the No Smoking sign.

Once situated in the great circular room, the professor tentatively held his helmet and looked at the other man. He knew that in a moment his burden would be Wolverine's to carry. He just hoped that this man, with his coarse language and apathetic outlook on life, could right the wrongs 1973 had caused. That he'd be enough.

"Logan," said Professor Xavier suddenly. He was hesitating, something Wolverine had not seen much of before. "There is something else I must tell you. This mutant...isn't like you or I. If provoked, her power has the potential to be almost limitless. It is something I haven't yet encountered, except for the few glimpses into your memories of..."

The old man looked away, ashamed. Logan narrowed his eyes. "Of who, Charles?"

"Jean," said the other sadly. He tried to pretend he hadn't seen Logan flinch. "After she'd become the Phoenix."

Images that Logan wanted desperately to forget flashed before both their minds. The consuming power she'd unleashed. The destruction in her path. The way she'd begged to be saved, barely grasping onto her sanity. Holding her dead body in his arms, screaming out to the cruel world.

Professor Xavier sensed his companion withdraw and build another layer upon the walls of his heart. He frowned, truly sorry for reminding him.

"Logan, I didn't mean to -"

"It was a different time." The man said gruffly, attempting to hide how shaken he was. He tapped a length of spent ashes free and looked away. "Things have changed."

"Indeed. But should this girl's true power awaken before we get to her, she would unleash destruction upon this world similar to the destruction you saw in your timeline. There would be no stopping her."

"So, why the hell would we save her?"

"I'm afraid we simply cannot leave her to any other fate. Nature may not have needed her in the other timeline but it needs her in this one. _We_ need her, Logan.

"Her power has not yet manifested. In her current state we still may be able to save her, but there is no telling what would happen if she fell into the wrong hands. That is why you must go to her. Find her. Reason with her. Bring her back to this school. Otherwise we may all be lost." The old man pursed his lips with untimely criticism. "And Logan, my tolerance for your smoking in the mansion notwithstanding, continue smoking that in _here_ and-"

Wolverine preemptively snubbed his cigarette out in the palm of his own hand, shaking his head at the parallel. "Yeah, yeah, yeah.._.I know_. You'll have me believing I'm a six year old girl."

The professor looked mildly impressed. "I didn't know you could read minds."

"Oh, I can't. We've just done this before. Only last time it had been a cigar." A look of fondness at the mention of cigars passed the man's features. "I recall you threating to have Jean braid my hair."

"Incredible." Charles nodded. "Anyway, you must go to the girl and bring her back. This is a mission of the utmost importance."

"In that case," said Wolverine. "Go yourself. Or send Storm and Jean like usual."

"It simply must be you."

"Why? This has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you. You're the reason she exists in this timeline. And the reason she's in danger. Everything that we hold dear in this world is depending upon this one moment, this single juncture in time. We are at a crossroads, at Fate's door, Logan. Choose the wrong path and we may never get another chance to win this war."

Logan leveled a look upon the professor, clearly not honored to be the selected errand boy. "Why now? Why wait all this time?" Why me, he still wanted to know. "You've known about this for twenty eight years, right? So why now, Charles? You're just gonna sit there and try to make me believe you didn't have the ability to do something until now?"

Professor Xavier donned his headpiece and sighed. There was so much to tell the other man but the time was not right. He wasn't sure what all he could say to placate Logan for now until everything became clear.

"You had not yet regained your memories. The moment your previous consciousness returned I knew every second I spent feeling something amiss with this world, every hint of the looming darkness which has been hiding in wait, had finally been justified. I knew that my time in this grand design of Fate had finally come to pass. I knew I must tell you. We are, after all, alone in our secrets, you and I. We all have our role. I'm afraid it must be you who goes."

Cerebro exploded into life, millions of white dots creating a map of the world around them. The conversation was over for now and both of them knew it. Continents came to life. Xavier's mind shifted, narrowing in on one such illuminated mass, and shadows of humanity faded in and out of view. Orange nebulous fog suddenly engulfed the pair, swirling about where white had been. The smoke was dotted with the bright life forces of mutant-kind everywhere. The imagery was jumpy, incoherent, as the professor searched for the one he was looking for. He weeded through several thousand incorporeal bodies at lightning speed. The man was concentrating very hard on his task. Wolverine stepped back when it was apparent Xavier was shaking under the pressure. This was a man possessed.

The scene suddenly halted and focused on a single neon point. It was roughly woman-shaped and pulsated with life.

"There you are," intoned Xavier, slightly out of breath. "Claire."

Logan merely looked at the near-ravage state the professor had succumbed to and tensed his jaw, not knowing what to say. Nothing about this situation was sitting well with him. He stared at the twinkling ball of light which had been Xavier's goal and frowned.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own or stake a claim to any character, setting, concept, or plotline that comes directly from Marvel or the X Men movie franchise. I did however meet Allen Bellman and his wife, once. I fetched that man a LOT of coffee and water during his stay. He was a nice old guy who ate a lot of salad and drew some stuff.

**X Men: Last Judgement**

The mail was late, again. The middle-aged woman shook her head full of curlers and trudged back up the long driveway. She stamped her wide feet free of the outside world and opened the screen door, yelling at the blur of children running past to stop fighting. Mumbling bitterly to herself, Mama Holten plopped her rotund behind into a vinyl kitchen chair and took up the cigarette waiting in her ash tray. She picked up a grubby remote and turned on the small TV on the counter, exhaling a cloud of smoke and coughing.

"Shut up, would ya! Damn kids. Can't even think in this house."

Timothy the Informant ran up to where she was currently biting a thumbnail free of dirt and gave her today's list of naughty deeds. For a child of ten he already was quite seasoned in the art of instigation. He proudly recounted everything he'd been witness to today. Mama Holten was hardly listening. The list was the same day in and day out.

"-and Susan took Emma's doll. Emma hit her and called her a brat. Then Davy -"

A gaggle of foster kids emerged from god only knew where, looking rather dirty. She gave them an annoyed stare.

"Go on upstairs, the lot of ya. You know my show's about to come on."

"We're hungry, Mama."

She rubbed one of her chins with a hand and shooed them off. The stub of her cheap cigarette was thoroughly snuffed out in the tray. It became just another tomb in her faux turtle shell graveyard. "Not now. I'm busy."

A little girl with knotty hair stepped forward, nursing a broken doll. "But -"

"_Get! _Go over to that whatsherface's house across the street if you want something. She'll feed ya. Told her not to since you kids is like cats. Feed 'um once and they won't ever leave. But that girl just feeds you anyway. Think she'd have more sense. But no, feed the foster rats. Lot of good it will do 'er."

The familiar opening music to Days of Our Lives came on and the woman lost interest in the children entirely. They vied for her attention once or twice in vain and then, as a unit, quit the kitchen through the broken screen door.

Mama Holten was right. Miss Claire_ would_ feed them. Many a day did they spend in the young woman's kitchen, eating whatever it was she had on her menu. Mostly pasta or salad. Sometimes there would be special things, like cookies. They reached her house and knocked on the door. No answer. Her bicycle was missing from its spot on the fence. They looked at one another and frowned.

"Where do you think she's gone to?" Asked a boy no more than six. He looked through the windows and couldn't see anything much besides curtains. "I thought today was her day off."

"Dunno," answered another child. She picked at her hand-me-down moth-eaten dress.

Behind them, a motorcycle pulled to a stop on the street. A man took off his helmet revealing pointed hair and a deep frown. He didn't look very pleased about being here. The professor had sent him to some rundown neighborhood in the middle of Nowhere Town, Connecticut. An hour in traffic had given him plenty of time to ruminate.

Logan secured his ride and got off, eying the strange collection of children on the porch ahead of him. He read the mailbox and double-checked the handwritten note just to be sure. This was the correct address alright. Xavier didn't say anything about this Claire person having kids. For a woman of twenty eight she sure got around. There were at least seven children of various ages and ethnicities standing on the stoop. This was going to be a lot more awkward now.

Children made him rather nervous. Especially small children. Damn that professor.

The man slowly made his way up the sidewalk and paused. He frowned as the kids turned to look at him. Logan had the sneaking suspicion most of them were unexplainably sticky.

"Hey," He tried for friendly but pretty much missed the mark. A blond boy started to suck his thumb. "Your Mother home? I need to talk to her."

"Yes," answered an astute young girl holding a bear. The bear, he noticed with dread, was missing its left ear. The girl's fuzzy black hair was done up in braids with big plastic beads at the ends. She pulled at one shyly. "But she's watching her show right now."

"I see."

Timothy the Informant boldly stepped up. "We're not supposed to talk to strangers."

The man shrugged, palming the little face away. "Yeah, save it kid. Could one of you go get your mom? I'm kinda in a hurry."

The group looked nervously about. Mama Holten wouldn't like this. Mama Holten didn't like most things, really. They silently elected the girl holding her broken doll to go.

"Hold on," said Logan with concern. "The hell are you going?"

The girl was well on her way down the sidewalk going in the direction of their actual house across the road. She answered as much, looking at him as if he was crazy. Her sad doll hung loosely in her arm. Its eye was missing.

"You mean you don't live here?"

The children shook their heads. One was still industrially sucking his thumb. Goober slid from its mouth making Logan wince.

"Waste of my time. _Yeah,_" said Wolverine with a grimace, shooing a child out of his way with a boot and knocking on the door. It frowned dejectedly up at him. "Stay there, kid. Just…stay."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Timothy taunted, proudly. He pushed the glasses up on his little round face and stuck out a tongue.

"And why," Logan all but growled, eyeing the child closest to him as it crept back over despite his warnings, "not?"

"Because Miss Claire isn't home." The boy triumphantly declared.

A young woman emerged from the corner store, thanking its owner for giving her a little extra chocolate. Most of the local Ma and Pa Shops knew her by name. This particular one was owned by Mr. Moretti and he knew she took care of the _little bambinos_ down the lot from him at Mama Holton's. He always winked and threw in some extra sweets for those kids when she came in.

"Ride home carefully, Claire!" The old Italian man waved as he closed the door behind her, making the bell chime. She put her bag in her carrying basket and did up her kickstand.

"I will, thank you. Say hello to Mrs. Moretti for me."

She rode down the street on her bicycle, carefully navigating the parked cars and waving to a young woman she recognized. She swept a lock of hair behind a shoulder and out of her eyes. Her dark mane cascaded down her back, forever tangled in the wind.

At the corner she made a familiar turn toward her street. As she approached her house, Claire saw Mama Holten's children surrounding a man she didn't recognize near her porch. The woman felt a chill run down her spine. They knew not to talk to strangers!

Her feet churned her bike's pedals faster. She'd be damned to let some pedophile molest those kids.

Unbeknownst to her, four mutants watched from their vantage point above the town. This was the correct woman, they knew. The one He'd picked. They turned serious eyes onto one another. No one was sure as to whom He meant to replace in their ranks, but they would be damned to have it be _them_. Each member of the party secretly harbored dark thoughts of betrayal for one another. As a unit they calculated their mark.

"Hey!" Claire shouted, dumping her bike and dismounting in the same instant when she reached her lawn. "What do you think you're doing? Stay away from them. Timothy, get your sisters and brothers back to Mama Holton's right now."

"Okay," the boy reluctantly complied, looking as if he'd been reprimanded. He made a mental note to report this to Mama as soon as possible and stuck out his tongue at Wolverine again, for good measure.

"Who are you?"

Being a small town, new faces stood out like a sore thumb. She eyed the man standing on her sidewalk and did her best to look intimidating, despite his sinewy muscles and well-built frame. The wife-beater he was wearing beneath the open leather jacket nicely hugged his six-pack. Claire blushed slightly when she realized she'd been staring. She had just enough wits about her to ensure the children had all disappeared inside Mama's before rounding on him again.

"What did you want with those kids?"

"What?" Wolverine made a face, taking out a cigarette. Being around so many sticky hands was giving him stress. "Not a damn thing. I came to find _you,_ actually_._"

He waved his match out and breathed in the luscious nicotine he'd been missing, finally getting a proper look at her. Logan took another long drag and nodded to himself. The professor sure could pick them. She should have been posing for Victoria's Secret instead of living in this hole. His eyes briefly winced up at the rundown shack behind them and he made a face.

"Me? Why? Who are you?" Claire smoothed down her unruly hair and bit her lip, frowning at her ruined shopping bags that had dumped out when she'd ditched her bike. She'd only just remembered them. It had been the last of her pocket money, too. "Crap."

Logan traced her movements and her very nice derriere as she bent to salvage what she could. The woman attempted to pick up too much at one time and dropped her groceries. An orange rolled towards him. He stopped it with a boot. "Wait, is this about the electricity? I told you guys I'd get the money to you by Friday."

"Nope, guess again."

The man was thoroughly enjoying the view. Claire looked back at him and realized she was dealing with a certified pervert, quickly standing up. She glowered and brushed down her skirt.

"Nice."

"So who the hell are you then? What do you want?"

"I came to find you." Logan was suddenly aware that a rather plump old lady across the street had come out to sit on her porch swing and stare. Nosy old bat.

Mama Holten had given up Days of Our Lives for this show. It better be good. Kids flanked her flabby sides, watching Miss Claire talk to the ruffian. The same kids from before, Logan noted with a glower. Timothy the Informant stood proudly by Mama's side, still sticking out his tongue. The man growled, "Let's talk inside."

"Yeah, no. I'm good."

As delicious as he looked, Claire was not going to invite some strange pervert into her house. She tried again to retrieve her groceries. The paper bag had torn and was worthless. Logan held his cigarette in his mouth and bent down to gather the bulk of them, gesturing to the door. With her items in tow it was hard not to have him come inside. Damn it.

"Shall we?"


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own or stake a claim to any character, setting, concept, or plotline that comes directly from Marvel or the X Men movie franchise. I did however meet Allen Bellman and his wife, once. I fetched that man a LOT of coffee and water during his stay. He was a nice old guy who ate a lot of salad and drew some stuff.

**X Men: Last Judgement  
><strong> 

Nightcrawler sat unnoticed on the highest point of the mansion, cloaked in the shadow of a crenel. He watched the sea of students drift past five-stories down on the grounds below. It had become a favorite retreat, this castle's battlement. Heights, after all, held no danger for him. Something about the silence and solitude was rather peaceful, knowing he was that much closer to God. If nothing else, it gave him time for his thoughts.

The blue-skinned man looked up at the shifting clouds pensively. He'd been coming up here more often as of late, his thoughts being hard to quiet otherwise. Memories of the time spent outside his beloved Munich Circus were causing him nightmares. Despite the general acceptance of mutant-kind the world over, it had still been difficult for most people not to fear him, even hate him, due to his appearance. Jeering faces and cruel words never had quite left him even after all these years living comfortably here at Xavier Institute. How he wished to forget. How he wished he could somehow blend in like so many others. If only he weren't blue.

The man frowned. He stared down at his devilish hands, turning them over and looking at his forked fingers carefully.

"Vot am I efen doink? Zis ist how Gott made me. Zere ist nosink to be ashamed of." He breathed in deeply, tracing the shape of a particularly large cloud. "Zose days are ofer." He admonished his own treacherous thoughts.

Closing his eyes reverently, Kurt did the only thing he could do in situations such as these. Those moments of weakness when faith didn't seem like enough. He prayed. "O Lort, Jesus Chrischt, Redeemer und Safior, forgif mein sins und zee sins of zose who vould do harm againscht me. Count not mein transgressions but, razer, mein fears of repentance…"

Something caught his attention on the edge of his hearing. On the courtyard below, Bobby created a slide of ice which he was using to win a basketball game, much to the chagrin of everyone else playing. Sounds of triumph from his winning team were easily picked up by the elf's ears. Kurt smiled faintly, wondering what it would be like to be that comfortable with his own unique abilities. To be that comfortable in his own skin. Just for a moment the man wondered what it'd be like to find happiness in this world beyond what his faith provided.

His keen eyes watched as the Iceman embraced Rogue and lifted her off the ground in a victorious swinging hug. Although the couple made sure not to have skin-to-skin contact, even they had found happiness in one another. Despite so many obstacles stacked against them these two people had come together, shared their lives. Truly, God worked in mysterious ways.

He stared a little too long at them and then looked away self-consciously. Kurt felt his heartstrings pull and knew such thoughts were dangerous. Alas, his time in Munich was not the only troubles on his mind these days.

The man found himself suddenly compelled to seek out the advice of someone much wiser.

Nightcrawler stood, bare cloven feet deftly keeping his balance. A window across the expanse of courtyard was his chosen destination. He stared at it and determined the best point of entry. Without further preamble, the man lithely teleported.

_BAMF!_

The man reappeared in a puff of black smoke, standing in a long gallery of doors and paneling. There was only one man who fit the bill, a man who had lived a great deal longer than Kurt and seemed to carry with him the sagacity of several lives moreover.

"Ah, come in Kurt," said Professor Xavier kindly, welcoming Nightcrawler before the blue elf had the opportunity to knock. By now he should have been accustomed to the older man's peculiar gifts, but Kurt still looked mildly shocked. "Please, sit."

"You vere...expectink me." It wasn't a question. The man sat as directed, his tail curling about the chair's back. He looked nervous. Xavier noticed he held his rosary protectively as he would before battle. Charles didn't comment.

"Professor, I...zereist somesink I vish to speak vis you about. Somesink zat ist razer...how do you say? Personal."

The older man smiled gently. "Yes. I had the feeling you would."

Yellow eyes shifted anxiously onto his for a brief moment, wondering exactly how much this man already knew.

"I vas vonderink if your abilities allowed you to see into zee future? Vat I mean ist, I..." Nightcrawler looked guiltily away, teetering dangerously on the line between religious certainty and a sinner's doubt. "I vas vonderink if you might tell me vere mein road might lead? If I vould efer fit into society?"

"I'm afraid my powers do not extend further than the present, but I see no reason why you wouldn't."

As if to provide one, the blue elf raised his forked hand for inspection. Kurt smiled ruefully. "I know zat Gott had a reason for creatink me as He did, but schtil...I find zat difficult to belief. Efen vis faith to guide me during times of hardship, I know zee probability of findink acceptance anyvere outside of zis school ist fery slim. I only vish to know if mein time vould not be better spent helping zose whom already haf accepted me, razer zen pursue a life of lies among zose who nefer vill."

"Are you perhaps thinking of becoming a part of the X Men? After all these years of abstaining in the name of peace?"

"Such soughts may haf crossed mein mind."

The look on his tattooed face prompted further probing by Xavier.

"You are free to join us if and when you decide to, Kurt. Your powers and strengths would prove to be an invaluable asset to us." Something curious was happening. Charles' words suddenly engulfed the world around them, a faint buzz intercepting all other noise. Nightcrawler realized with mounting concern that he no longer knew if the older man was indeed even speaking at all, or if he was implanting the sounds directly into his mind.

Xavier narrowed his concentration onto Kurt meaningfully. "Even if you were to, say, drop in unexpected. Teleport in unannounced. _Follow us_, even so far as to interrupt a mission. An ally of your particular gifts would be most welcome, I'd say."

Kurt blinked, sounds and life returning instantly to normal. He could hear birds chirping outside the window. His yellow eyes studied the older man with trepidation.

"But this choice is yours to make and yours alone," Xavier continued as if the conversation had never swayed at all, leaving the blue skinned man to doubt the dip in atmosphere. "Your presence at this school was not built on any pretenses of payment or penance. You owe no debt to us."

"Ja," Kurt agreed, befuddled. Surely he had not imagined it. "Zat I know."

"But that isn't why you've come to me, is it? I sense there is something else troubling you. Am I mistaken?"

Kurt shamed away, uncomfortably aware he was in the office of a psychic. "Ja, zere ist. But I can no more put zose soughts into vords, zen you can see into zee future, I'm afraid. Zere are no vords capable of such sings. I sit before you a man ashamed for efen sinkink zem."

"My boy," Began the professor, using the affectionate moniker despite the man being almost thirty-five. As most things went, Charles knew much more than he let on. "There is nothing to be asha-"

The old man suddenly cut short, his keen sensitivity picking up a dreadful shadow of premonition centered around two mutants under his charge. A cataclysmic surge of massive power had descended upon the earth, like a great shifting of tectonic plates. Flashing images of four ill-fated individuals left Charles inhaling sharply. Nightcrawler frowned at him, concerned.

"Professor?"

Xavier turned his gaze onto him, blindly, shakily coming out of the rigors of telepathic sight. The old man gathered his wits about himself and blinked. His chair hovered out from behind the desk.

He said enigmatically, "I apologize, Kurt. There is a matter I must attend to. Please, let's continue this conversation later."

Claire neatly set her shoes onto the rack inside, giving her odd guest a _look_. Wolverine merely raised a furry eyebrow until she eventually gave up trying for manners. The man set her produce onto a counter and caught another wayward orange as it made a daring escape. He watched as she checked a bag of chocolates for damage and ate a piece after careful analysis.

An egg timer was plopped meanly on the table.

"Okay, you have ten minutes. Make them count. Any longer and I'll call the cops."

Logan sat on her wobbly chair not looking very impressed. "You treat all your guests this well, lady?"

"Only those who look like convicts."

He conceded. "Fair enough."

Claire leaned on a counter. "Nine minutes."

Charles had prepared a speech detailing everything this young woman needed to know. It was to be followed to the letter, he'd said. The professor had been very adamant. A mistake could lead to her ending up on the wrong side of whatever war the old man had been on about.

Wolverine soured a bit, feeling a lot like a trained lap dog fetching a ball. He took out the note and cleared his throat.

"Hello. Oh, _you gotta be kidding me_…he expects me to read this... _Ahem. _My name is Logan. I was sent by Professor Charles Xavier of the Xavier Institute of..._oh hell._" He crumpled the note and tossed it into her trashcan, giving up. "_Listen, _it's real simple. You're a mutant. Congratulations. I am, too. You're in danger. Never fear, there's a school waiting to save you. We should probably get going."

"Going?" She repeated cynically and cocked a brow.

"Yes, _going_. Back to the school. Of mutants waiting to save you." Logan set a new world record for eye-rolls. "Tell me when any of this begins to set it."

The man lit another cigarette, much to her chagrin. He'd been loath to put out his first one upon entering and really needed one right now.

"Uh-_huh_... I don't think so," The woman marched over and ripped the cigarette from his surprised mouth, rinsing it under the faucet and throwing the thing out despite his heated protesting. "I'm not a mutant and I'm not going anywhere with you, so…you can just stop now."

"I can't believe you just did that..." He was pissed but seemed to learn the lesson. The pack of smokes remained in his pocket and away from her grabby little hands. "Seriously. What is with you?"

"Don't smoke in my house, Susan's got asthma." She leaned back into her frigid stance. "Where do you get off coming here and feeding me some crap about being a mutant, anyway? Who are you, really? Gas company send you? Hmm? Water company? Cable? Think you can just show up here with all your muscles and your Clint Eastwood look and intimidate me? I didn't realize debt collectors made house calls."

"Just how many places do you owe money to _anyway_, lady?"

Claire frowned down at him. "I'm sorry, I can't quite hear you over all that _hair."_

Logan waved a hand incredulously.

"What's wrong with my hair? _Look,_ your powers haven't manifested yet, okay? Late bloomer. It happens." He couldn't help but drink up her fine curvature and slightly amended the statement, his basal instincts overpowering the impending rage. "Obviously, that rule doesn't apply to the rest of your...assets."

Claire folded her arms over said assets and made a face. "_Okay,_ time to go."

"Fuck it," the man stood, hands up in defeat. She was infuriating. "Told him he should'a just sent Storm. I don't have time for this shit. Good luck, lady. I'm out."

He proceeded to leave but turned rapidly around, not quite finished. Frustration was written across his unshaven face. Several times Logan made to yell at her but faltered, clenching his pointed finger into a fist and back again. "You know what, _don't_ believe me. Doesn't change a damn th –"

A large booming explosion shook the house, dust and debris raining from the ceiling. Her potted plants toppled over, spilling dirt upon the linoleum floor. A long row of glassware above the counter slid off and clattered in ringing notes of broken glass. The windows in the kitchen imploded from the impact.

Both of them scrambled for balance as the earthquake settled down. The woman paled and exchanged an alarmed glance with the man standing in her kitchen. He seemed to be just as surprised as she was.

Screaming was suddenly heard outside.

"Oh my god," the woman ran out the door, not bothering with shoes. The children were out there!


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, own or stake a claim to any character, setting, concept, or plotline that comes directly from Marvel or the X Men movie franchise. I did however meet Allen Bellman and his wife, once. I fetched that man a LOT of coffee and water during his stay. He was a nice old guy who ate a lot of salad and drew some stuff.

**X Men: Last Judgement**

_'Jean,' _came the familiar pull inside her mind, words spoken directly through their telepathic link. The woman looked up from her work in the laboratory.

"Professor?" She answered aloud, rousing the interest of fellow lab technician, Beast. The blue furred man looked over top of his glasses at her but said nothing, going back to the business of reading a clipboard of charts. He was well aware of Charles' penchant for the theatrics. That man could make unsweetened oatmeal seem dramatic.

_'We haven't much time. I need you to gather our team and meet me at the hanger as quickly as possible.' _

The redheaded woman set down the instrument she held, leaving it next to a row of culture tubes filled with various liquids. Ghosts of worried thoughts she'd entertained all day were somehow growing more corporeal with his words. Hearing the heavy sigh of Hank, she opened her mind to Xavier and spoke to him privately.

_'You sound worried. What's wrong?'_

_'Nothing, if we get there in time.'_

She was already well on her way out of her lab coat and nitrile gloves. Dr. Grey barely missed the massive eye roll her colleague donned as she set aside her work, yet again. Why he even bothered giving her any role in his experimentations the man didn't know. She was as fickle and easily distracted as a housecat. Hank checked his clipboard for the umpteenth time and turned away, unimpressed.

The woman quit the room, passing a few open classrooms full of students.

_'Tell me, Charles. What's going on?'_

_'Jean,' _pressed the old man with concern,_ 'I feel our presence may soon be needed. I will explain everything on the way. For now, please gather the others and suit up. _

_'Oh, and Jean?'_

_'Yes?'_

_'Don't bother looking for Wolverine. He is already there.'_

Storm was easily obtained, having been mid-lecture just down the hall. Cyclops was met near the library with Bobby and Rogue in tow a few minutes later, discussing a recent win on the courtyard. They had been on their way inside when Jean spotted them.

"-have to be poor sports about it. I mean, we all agreed powers could be used. Fair's fair." Iceman shrugged.

"Jealousy," said Rogue, giving a supportive squeeze to her boyfriend's arm. "A twenty foot ice slide can have that effect on people."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit, it was stylish."

"Hey," Scott greeted Jean, going up to kiss her as she rushed towards the group with Storm close behind. He quickly sensed their state of mild panic and backed up, concern pulling the corners of his mouth into a frown. His brow furrowed heavily over his glasses. "What's wrong?"

"We need to get to the hanger. Charles is waiting. Have you seen Kitty?"

Bobby shook his head, "She and Peter have class right now I think."

Storm detached from the group on the pretense of finding them, going toward the row of classrooms that would yield the two missing members of their team.

"I'll meet you there."

She passed a blue skinned mutant who happened to be wondering aimlessly down the hall, walking off his unanswered concerns. The German elf waved a tri-fingered greeting and went mostly disregarded in Ororo's rush. Kurt looked quizzically after her retreating form. His brow pulled down in concern.

The four remaining mutants continued toward the hanger. Scott once again asked the question on everyone's mind; what was going on?

"Charles didn't say, but Scott...something's not right. I've been feeling as if the whole world's been holding its breath all day. Like something's about to happen. And it isn't good."

"Hey, let's hope so." Iceman said as they rounded another corner. He'd inexplicably picked up a bottle of water sometime during their trek through the school, which he chugged vigorously. "We haven't had a serious mission in a while. Getting kinda boring if you ask me."

Rogue made a face at him. "Bobby…"

"What do you mean?" Scott circumvented the younger members of their squad, going back to the topic at hand. He rubbed his girlfriend's shoulder consolingly. "What is it?"

"I don't know," conceded Jean. Apprehension creased her forehead. "But I have the feeling this whole thing is connected."

The hanger was witness to the gathering of X Men, their corps fully assembled and dressed appropriately for the job. Shadowcat fitfully adjusted the skintight suit which seemed to have shrunk marginally since their last mission. Rogue was definitely _not_ giggling at her friend's discomfort. Jean made a knowing face and crossed into the ship. Storm fought against a smile, zipping herself up with ease.

"Did this thing get smaller?" Kitty tried to reach for the zipper behind her back but couldn't quite manage. Rogue took pity and did her up, straining against the fabric.

"Possible," The woman lied helpfully, struggling. "Breath in, huh?"

Colossus rubbed an embarrassed hand through his short crop of hair. He was tempted to remind her of their recent all-you-could-eat-buffet dating spree through town but decided against it. The image of Kitty gorging on desserts was wisely kept to the privacy of his own thoughts. "Maybe they didn't realize it was dry-clean only."

"Shoulda had a salad," chimed in Bobby, narrowly missing Kitty's fist as they filed in.

The team had all but entered, with Storm rounding up the back. She was almost fully up the ramp when an unmistakable noise caught her attention.

_BAMF!_

The woman turned and eyed the sudden visitor.

"Kurt," she asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

He looked sheepishly up at her. Truth be told, the man didn't really know. For some unexplainable reason he'd been oddly compelled to follow the troops to the hanger. Nightcrawler had hung back unseen in the shadows while everyone got ready but couldn't help teleporting closer, in light of their leaving.

Storm looked vaguely concerned at holding up the mission, teetering on the middle of the platform. Her honeyed mouth pulled into a frown.

"Zis may be…improper of me, but…vould you fery much mind mein coming vis you?" Yellow eyes held her gaze for an instant before finding something suddenly very interesting on the ship behind her. "I only wish to help."

"_Alright_," Bobby's excitement had not quite spread to the rest of the team, who buckled in and exchanged glances with one another. "So, who else is like, _really_ pumped right now? Woo. Let's go!"

Scott briefly glanced at the fledgling from his seat in the cockpit, shaking his head. It was hard to believe he'd ever been that young. He put on his headphones and started her up as the professor appeared to greet them all, hovering down the aisle in his chair. The old man's eyes momentarily twinkled as Ororo walked in smiling, Kurt close behind.

The elf sat in an unclaimed seat looking as out of place as earmuffs in the desert, sporting his long taupe coat and vest. He fastened himself in and nodded nervously to the bewildered faces around him, still mildly unsure as to why he'd come in the first place. His brain was oddly foggy whenever he tried to think too hard about it.

All through the flight, even as Professor Xavier explained the mission to the group, Nightcrawler peered out the small port window, mystified.

The four warriors touched down upon the earth, cloaked in Egyptian garb and looking grim. Horses of fire and unnatural construction carried each rider as they slowly approached the house of Claire Harper. Smoke from the recent explosion drifted hazily through the air, obscuring the oncoming horsemen.

Logan narrowed his eyes upon their advancing forms even as he barreled after his foolish charge. He shouted at her to get back inside but the woman didn't listen.

"Goddamn it!" He caught Claire near the front porch, spinning her bodily around and ending her idiotic sprint towards the ruined road. He dumped the flailing girl onto the grass in a tumbling mess. In a furious swish his claws came out, turning back towards the threat.

"What do you think 'stay back' means?" He called over a shoulder. "Wanna get yourself killed?"

Claire stood roughly and brushed herself off, coming to be at the mouth of a very large crater which had been her front yard. She paled. "Lovely, there goes my deposit."

She gave her companion a double-take and noted the adamantium display protruding between his knuckles on both hands. The woman caught his eye. Logan had warned her but never had she imagined _this._ He really was a mutant then. The man made a face that screamed 'told ya so'.

The children were still outside across the street, cowering. In panic Claire flailed her arms to get their attention.

"Run!" she shouted, resuming the dash from before. A strong hand caught her shoulder.

"_Oh_, no you don't." Logan shook his head. If Charles only knew how much he'd messed this up...Should have stuck to the script after all he supposed. Damn it. Although, he assumed the handwritten note hadn't covered explosions or horse-riding mutants, or well, whoever the fuck these guys were.

He spun her around and just about shoved her toward the house. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this shit… Get back inside before I kill you myself."

The largest of the horsemen raised two meaty hands above his head slowly, meaningfully. The air went unnaturally still. Without preamble he clapped thunderously, creating another explosion in the street. A wayward car unlucky enough to be driving veered off and hit a hydrant, sending a jet of water up into the air. Its alarm went off in time with the airbag, the driver injured and unconscious. The man fell limply against the deflating bag, arm at a sick angle. Jarring noise melded with the screaming of Mama Holten and the children.

Wolverine lunged at the closest rider, slicing into his mechanical steed. The beast bucked as its master leapt off, cloak splaying out in his agile descent. A metal pair of wings could be seen for just a moment, clinging to the Horseman's back. The strange mutant glided to a stop on the ground, fist propping himself up. He leveled a look upon his challenger.

A moment of recognition passed before Logan's eyes.

"Angel?" said Wolverine, more than shocked. His anger was matched only by confusion. He frowned suddenly. "Why the hell are you blue?"

"You know this guy?" Claire asked from the curb. So much for keeping in the house.

"Yeah, _no_ –" Logan quickly amended, remembering it was an entirely different timeline which had brought Angel to the X Men before. In _this_ life he'd never before encountered the winged mutant. He gruffly raised an eyebrow. "In a manner of speaking."

He realized too late that Claire was once again disobeying his orders. Wolverine barked at her to get back and in his distraction the metallic mutant hybrid which had been Angel took this moment to strike.

Logan was unceremoniously thrown into a parked Jeep Cherokee. The driver's side was smashed in completely by the bulk of him. He moaned and dropped to the ground, pausing to shake away some glass as the car's alarm sounded. The air had been knocked out of his lungs. Small cuts on his brow reformed with grisly precision as he regained his bearings. He cracked his jaw back into place.

"Son of a bitch."

His claws extended once more and he rushed at the other man, swiping the ground where Angel had been standing. The mutant floated soundlessly in the sky above. With a swish of metal, feathers shot down at Wolverine like several long machetes. With all the deft precision of porcupine quills they struck the ground in a long row seconds from Logan's dodging form. One easily punctured a vehicle next to his head where the man came to pause, superior alloy ripping through the car as if made of tinfoil. Logan eyed it warily. "Seriously?"

He stood and faced the floating man.

"Angel!" Wolverine roared, rolling to escape the next barrage of knives. He lunged again, his claws connecting with the tip of the metallic wing in a shower of sparks. They hadn't damaged the strange appendage at all. "Oh, you so don't want to do this. _Angel!_"

"It's Death, now." Came the calm voice of Angel, quite content upon being evil. He raised his arm and sent another line of blades sailing towards the swarthy man. "Although I admit it's quite refreshing to have someone recognize me, even in my evolved form. Were you an admirer of mine perhaps?"

"Yeah, must have been your good looks."

The Frankenstein of a mutant sneered darkly at the barb, his ego still present despite being so terribly altered. Another volley of weaponry littered the ground. Logan caught one in his shoulder, rearing back from the force. He pulled it out in a sickly squelch of noise and dropped the bloody thing on the ground. It clattered where it fell.

"Jesus," he heard Claire breathe. "The _f,_ man?"

"Go _inside_, damn it." He spit blood and seethed. "Angel, the _hell_ is going on here? Who are these assholes?"

He pointed round, indicating the three other riders. The one responsible for the explosions grinned wickedly at Wolverine. A sallow, hunched mutant next to him displayed his mouth of pointed teeth, cruel eyes wide with malicious glee. Their ranks were rounded out by a thin mean-looking woman with skin like parchment. She waved at Logan darkly, skeletal fingers curling a horrendous 'hello'.

Logan spared a disgusted glance at the she-thing. He made a face, endeavoring to never do it again. "This ain't you."

Angel smirked at his foe. "Oh, but it _is_ me. Poor Archangel traded in his mortal wings and became a god."

"What the hell are you talking about? Your father put you up to this, bub? Didn't get enough of him the first time around?" Wait, different timeline. Damn, he was still having a problem keeping them separate. _God_, did he want a cigarette right about now.

"My father is nothing compared to _Him_." The reverent way in which he enunciated 'Him' gave Logan cause for concern. The blue false idol haughtily permitted the world a wide sweep with arrogant eyes. "The time of Apocalypse is drawing near."

Wolverine scoffed. "Apocalypse? Real original. Let me guess, you're the Four Horsemen?"

"Precisely."

"Yep, and I'm the goddamn Easter Bunny."

He didn't have time for any more sarcasm as Angel once again lunged viciously at him. Logan crouched and splayed out his claws, beckoning the man to come closer. He dared him.

Their fight was put on temporary hold as the wind coiled up unnaturally around them, carrying dead leaves and debris. The other Horsemen looked darkly at the approaching aircraft, hovering soundlessly above. Angel reared back mid-flight, covering his eyes from the sudden gust.

Logan tightened his jaw, knowing all too well who was inside the strange jet. It touched down sleekly and sent a fountain of steam and dust billowing into the sky, looking quite out of place in such a slum of a neighborhood.

"No," Angel snarled, not happy for the interruption. He dove toward Wolverine while the man was distracted. Behind their battle the door sounded and slid ajar.

In a great chaotic collision, both men went for the kill. Wolverine slashed and caught the winged man in the chest, ripping through his flesh. Blood christened the ground moments before the swarthy mutant touched down, brow furrowed with rage. A line of metal feathers stabbed heavily into the blacktop, trailing his evading form. He registered the sound of X-Men as they streamed out in various states of alertness and agility, using their individual skills to aid their comrade and fall into rank.

"Logan!" Jean seamlessly went into battle stance, using her telekinesis to block a wayward blade, preventing the thing from hitting the man's face. She smiled at him from the ramp.

"Saved your ass," Jean teased. "Yet again."

"I knew you couldn't stay away." He gave a suggestive nod toward the redhead which was mostly blocked by Cyclops, who leaned between them and shook his head at the temerity.

"Dude, seriously right now?"

Had to hand it to them; they certainly made an entrance. "Missed you, too, Shades. Storm. Half-pint," He greeted Kitty as she sidled up to the group. "Somebody wanna get _her_ out of here now?" The man jabbed a thumb toward Claire, still precariously standing out in the open like an easy target. Not a brain in her pretty head, that one.

Kitty stepped up to the task and led the woman quite literally into the safety of their jet. Claire didn't go very willingly, but the children had gone back inside at least. Nightcrawler caught her eye as the pair disappeared through the side of the aircraft. The blue man frowned at the mutants clad in Egyptian cloaks, three upon peculiar steeds, the other floating in the air. The suspended man was a similar hue as himself, but the result was somehow cold and unnatural. Nothing good could come of this. Kurt clutched his rosary.

Above Logan Angel curiously dabbed at his open wounds, rubbing the slick red fluid upon his fingertips. This wasn't right.

"But I'm a _god_," he whispered to no one in particular. "He made me a god."

"Hate to break it to ya, bub, but gods don't bleed." In a robust athletic leap, Wolverine hurled himself claws-first into the stunned floating mutant.

Two bodies returned to earth, one upon his feet, the other in a pile. Logan spat another spray of blood in the other man's direction. Angel or not, guy was a _dick_. The fallen mutant wasn't dead but definitely would be feeling that one in the morning.

Logan dumped the unconscious body of Angel at the feet of Bobby and Rogue. "Watch him."

The beastly man turned toward the other three warriors with a murderous look. "Who's next?"

Storm's eyes turned white in anticipation, summoning autumn's clouds overhead. Jean sank into a sparring pose. Scott held his hand at the ready. Kitty and the other fledglings tried out their own versions of defensive stances. And Logan, in a rather lackluster display, sniffed unimpressed. He desperately wanted a cigarette.

The anorexic Famine gave an enraged shriek from where she sat on her unusual steed. Wolverine cracked his neck, impassively. "Guess _you're_ up, ugly."


End file.
